


It Couldn't Be True

by shiawasena_neko



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Secret Window (2004), Sleepy Hollow (1999)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Denial, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mpreg, Rape/Non-con Elements, Whump, pregnant!Ichabod
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27033967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiawasena_neko/pseuds/shiawasena_neko
Summary: Ichabod gets raped by a criminal he is pursuing. He doesn't want to admit he might be pregnant. His roommate Jack Sparrow and neighbor Mort Rainey try to help him.
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Ichabodcranesleftfoot for beta'ing this for me!

Having known Ichabod for as long as he had, and having been crashing at his apartment for the past three months, Jack could immediately tell that something was off when the constable walked through the door.

His shoulders were slumped, and he slowly made his way inside, eyes focused on the floor. 

“Bad day?” Jack called from his perch on the couch. He’d been marathoning Star Trek in Ichabod’s absence.

In response, Ichabod stopped walking and slowly turned to face Jack.

“I need to rest,” He whispered, a tear running down his cheek.

Jack raised an eyebrow at this.

“What happened? Are you injured? Did ye get fired?”

Ichabod sniffled and shook his head, but said nothing else. He removed his shoes, continued on to his bedroom, and quickly shut the door.

00

Jack was unsure of what to do.

Clearly, Ichabod didn’t want to be disturbed, but he’d been crying for over two hours now, and Jack was truly beginning to worry. He’d been loud enough that their neighbor, Mort, had even come to ask if Ichabod was alright because he’d heard him sobbing through the walls.

Jack tried to focus on the television but couldn’t do so. It was hard to ignore one’s friend being so very upset.

Finally, he got up, took a deep breath, and headed towards Ichabod’s bedroom. He knocked twice, gently.

“Hey, can I come in?” He asked, keeping his voice soft.

There was no response, so Jack tried again.

“Ichabod, I can hear you crying. I’m coming in, alright?” He pushed the door open and saw that Ichabod was on the bed, curled up as small as he could go, and was facing the wall. He was holding a pillow to his chest as he sobbed.

Jack frowned and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Mate, I’m worried about ya. Can you tell me what’s wrong? I can help if you tell me.”

Ichabod shook his head in response.

“You can’t help this.” He whispered, sniffling. 

It was then that Jack noticed some drops of blood on the sheets near Ichabod’s hip. Jack’s eyes grew wide as he had an idea as to what might have occurred.

“Ichabod, did something happen tonight? Did someone hurt you? Because you’ve got blood on the sheets, so I can tell something happened. Ya can be honest with me, y’know. I won’t judge.”

Ichabod swallowed nervously and seemed to curl up even further for a moment before he seemingly forced himself to turn to face Jack, cringing as he did so.

“T-the man I was w-watching. I h-had to chase him. And I s-slipped, and… and he caught me.” He explained, more tears coming now. “A-and we were in an aban-… abandoned factory. Couldn’t call for b-backup,” His breath hitched. “S-so. He used the… the situation to his advantage…” He trailed off, crying harder again.

“He violated you?” Jack confirmed.

Ichabod nodded, his whole body shaking.

“That’s horrific, mate,” Jack replied. “I want to hug you but I’m not sure if you want to be touched?”

Ichabod shrugged. He didn’t mind if Jack touched him. And a hug might feel good.

Seeing this, Jack gently reached for him and pulled him close, rubbing Ichabod’s back as he cried.

After a few moments, Ichabod began to pull away.

“I know you already know this, but you really ought to, ye know, report it, if you haven’t already.” Jack said, watching as Ichabod held onto his pillow once again.

The constable shook his head.

“No. No, I can’t. I just… They got him anyway. One of the other officers, about an hour afterward. Sheer luck, I guess. So it doesn’t matter. He’s going to jail either way.”

“But he should have to answer for hurting you, too!” Jack protested. “That’s not right and you know it.”

Ichabod looked at him with big, sad eyes.

“Please, Jack. Drop it. Please.”

Jack frowned and sighed.

“Alright, mate. Fine. It’s your call. I think you ought to get cleaned up, though. Take a shower, change your clothes,” Jack suggested.

When Ichabod made no move at all, Jack frowned.

“You're going to make me drag you to the shower, then?”

No response. Ichabod continued to stare into space.

“Alright,” Jack said. “You’ve cleaned me up enough times when I was drunk, so I’ll do this for you. I’m going to reach under your arms and take you to the bathroom.”

Ichabod barely even blinked as Jack began working to drag him off the bed. He flopped to the floor, forcing Jack to literally pull him along towards the bathroom. The pirate was nearly out of breath by the time they got there. Small as Ichabod was, he was total dead weight.

“There,” Jack said as he sat him down on the toilet lid. “Let’s get you ready to bathe, yeah? Can you help me get your shirt off?”

Ichabod simply slumped over. He was still awake, but obviously ignoring everything Jack was doing and saying.

“Fine,” Jack said, more to himself than to his friend. He turned on the bathwater, deciding that Ichabod was unlikely to be able to stand up for a shower. As it heated up he began helping him undress, telling him everything he planned to do before he did it. In the end, he left Ichabod in his boxers, deciding that going any further might upset him too much.

He grunted as he hefted Ichabod into the water, and tried not to cringe as it immediately turned pink from the dried blood on his bottom and legs. 

Jack looked at his friend sympathetically as Ichabod pulled his legs towards his chest and began to rock back and forth. He wasn’t crying, but seemed to be staring into space as he did this.

“Ichabod, I’m going to wash your hair and back, alright?” Jack asked, not expecting a response. He sat on the edge of the tub and used a cup to pour water over Ichabod’s hair, using his free hand to shield his eyes. Then he grabbed Ichabod’s shampoo and began to lather it in. As he touched Ichabod’s scalp, he noticed a bump.

“He hit your head too, then?” Jack asked. 

Ichabod glanced at him, but didn’t reply. He didn’t really need to, as Jack pulled his hand back to see more blood. Obviously, Ichabod’s assailant had hit him with something. He made an attempt to be even more careful from that point on. 

When he finally finished, he handed the wash cloth he was using over to the constable.

“You really should wash the rest of yourself, Ichabod. Really. You don't want to get an infection.”

Ichabod took a deep breath and took the towel from Jack’s hand. Jack averted his eyes as Ichabod removed his undergarments and dropped them on the floor, then began to mechanically clean himself up. He was still sore, and made little groaning sounds as he cleaned the places where he’d been so viciously hurt. He was hunched over again, knees to chest, when Jack finally looked back at him.

“Good job,” Jack told him. “Now, I know you can stand up. Make this easy on both of us, yeah?”

Ichabod closed his eyes for a moment before seemingly mustering all of his strength to stand. He allowed Jack to run the shower for a moment to get any lingering bits of blood and soap off of him before turning it off and helping wrap him in a large fluffy towel. 

Slowly he followed Jack back to his bedroom. He allowed Jack to help him dress in a clean pair of pajamas before curling up under his blankets once again.


	2. Chapter 2

Ichabod stayed in his room all evening and didn’t come out the next morning. Jack worried as it got later, since Ichabod was scheduled to be at work soon. Finally, about fifteen minutes before Ichabod’s shift was to start, Jack knocked on his door.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to go to work today?” Jack asked.

Ichabod apparently had not moved from his position the night before. He was still wrapped in blankets, curled up and facing the wall.

Ichabod sniffed and groaned as he turned over to face Jack. His eyes were red and puffy, and he looked exhausted. Clearly, he’d been crying all night. 

“Right,” Jack said, frowning. “Can you call yourself out or shall I do it?”

Ichabod closed his eyes and held his pillow a little tighter.

“Can you?” He asked softly. He didn’t have it in him to face his supervisor. “Tell them I’m sick.”

Jack nodded. “Will do. I need your phone.”

Ichabod pointed to the nightstand where his phone lay on its charger. Jack took it and began scrolling through Ichabod’s contacts before settling on the one that said “CHIEF”. 

The phone rang three times before someone with a gruff voice answered.

“What’s going on, Crane?” The police chief asked.

“This is his roommate, actually. I’m calling because Ichabod will need today off. Possibly tomorrow, too.”

Ichabod watched as Jack conversed, slightly amused by how well Jack lied.

“Oh, no, you really don’t want him to try to come in. Yeah. Projectile vomiting, yeah. It’s like the bloody exorcist in here.”

Hearing this, Ichabod rolled his eyes.

“Probably contagious, yeah,” Jack went on. “I mean, I think so. Okay. Alright. I’ll tell him. Thanks!” He hung up and looked at Ichabod. “Your boss said to stay home for the rest of the week.”

“Why’d you tell him I was projectile vomiting?” Ichabod asked. “That’s… gross, honestly.”

Jack almost smiled, if only because for a second, Ichabod looked slightly less miserable.

“Worked, didn’t it? No one wants to deal with that, especially not on a Tuesday.”

“Hm.” Ichabod snuggled his pillow again. “Thanks, Jack.”

“No problem mate. Now, fair warning, if you don’t come out for lunch, I’m dragging you out. Ya need to eat.” He glanced at Ichabod’s alarm clock. “You’ve got three hours.”

Ichabod didn’t respond.

00

Thankfully, Jack didn’t have to actually drag Ichabod out of bed. The threat of it was enough to get the constable moving, though he did move slowly, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders and snuggling into it as he sat down on the couch.

Jack smiled at him and handed him the remote.

“Why don’t you choose something to watch and I’ll make us some food. Soup alright with you?”

Ichabod shrugged. He wasn’t hungry. He knew he hadn’t eaten in over a day but he was too upset to care.

Jack took that as a yes and headed off to the kitchen. He wasn’t a great cook, but heating up canned soup wasn’t difficult. He ended up bringing Ichabod a bowl of it along with crackers and a large glass of water, and he set the food up on a tray so Ichabod could eat on the couch. He also noticed that the movie Office Space was on. 

“Good choice,” Jack said as he began to eat his own food.

The two watched in silence for a while. Jack was happy to see that Ichabod had managed to eat most of his soup and drank most of the water. At a particularly funny scene, Ichabod even laughed, which Jack found encouraging.

In the end, Ichabod went back to bed, but he slept much better than he had before.

00

A month later, things had gotten somewhat back to normal. Ichabod had gone back to work a week after his assault and he never brought it up, and he seemed to be doing his best to act normally, though Jack did notice he had developed some strange habits recently. He seemed to be obsessed with checking that he’d unplugged certain things or that the windows were locked, or that he had locked the door on his way out in the morning. He seemed to be trying to hide it, doing things quietly when he thought Jack wasn’t paying attention, but Jack caught it.

But beyond that, things were as they always had been, up until the vomiting started.

Jack had woken one morning to the sound of Ichabod retching in the bathroom. He had initially put it down to a stomach virus or food poisoning, but when it began to occur every day for over a week, another thought occurred to him.

“Ichabod,” Jack said, one day, as he leaned in the bathroom doorway, watching as Ichabod tried to rinse out his mouth. “I think ya need to take a test.”

Ichabod spit out the mouthwash and glared at Jack.

“What for?”

“You know what for,” Jack said, wincing as Ichabod rested a hand on his stomach, clearly in pain from the muscle spasms. 

Ichabod glared at him angrily.

“I don’t know what you’re implying, but I’m perfectly fine. I just have a stomach virus. I’ll be fine in another week. You’ll see.”

With that, Ichabod pushed past him to leave.

00

Another month passed, and Ichabod was still getting sick, and was also now having difficulty with certain smells and foods as well. Heaven forbid Jack make anything with garlic or any type of seafood, Ichabod would run from the room lest he get ill. The result was that Ichabod looked very tired and worn down and had lost weight, making him look scrawny and haggard.

Anytime Jack broached the subject of taking a pregnancy test or even just seeing a doctor, Ichabod pushed him away. He seemed almost angry at the idea that pregnancy was a possibility. 

Mort, who worked from home and saw Ichabod quite often, also noticed that something was off about the constable. One day as Ichabod left for work, Mort stopped him in the hallway.

“Hey, I don’t mean to pry, but are you okay?” He asked, looking Ichabod over. He hadn’t even brushed his hair that day and he had bags under his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Ichabod replied, glaring at Mort. His expression softened when he saw that Mort was truly concerned about him.

“It’s just… honestly, man, you don’t look too good,” Mort responded. “I mean, no offense.”

Ichabod frowned. 

“Things have been… difficult, as of late, but I’m fine. Thank you for your concern, but it’s unwarranted.”

Mort nodded. He knew what it was like not to want to be bothered.

“Okay. That’s okay. But if you do need something… my door is open. I get kinda bored some days anyway, so some company might be nice.”

Ichabod forced a smile and tried to push back the feeling of nausea that was creeping up on him once again.

“Thanks, Mort. I’ve got to get going.”

With that, he ran down the stairs, just making it to the bushes outside, where he was sick once again.


	3. Chapter 3

Six months had passed since Ichabod had been assaulted, and things had changed, not that he would ever admit to any differences. He was still wearing his usual clothes, despite the fact that nothing really fit anymore. His stomach was too big, making it so he couldn’t button his pants, so he’d taken to using a rubber band to connect the button and the hole it belonged to.

Jack hadn’t mentioned it to Ichabod. Any mention of the possibility of pregnancy seemed to make him angry, so Jack kept quiet in order to keep the peace.

He had, however, mentioned Ichabod’s current obsession with certain foods. Specifically, key lime pie. Jack had never seen anyone eat so much of it, yet Ichabod never seemed to tire of it. One day, Jack jokingly brought it up.

“Another one?” He asked as Ichabod took a pie out of the fridge. “How can ya be eating that so often, mate?”

Ichabod stared at him for a moment, an annoyed expression on his face.

“I like it,” He finally replied as he got himself a plate.

“But that’s the third one this week! Don’t you want to eat something else?”

Then Ichabod started to tear up, and Jack instantly felt like kicking himself. 

“…It makes me happy,” Ichabod answered, eyes wide and watery.

Jack sighed, feeling terribly guilty.

“Just enjoy it, mate.” He said. “Don’t mind me.” 

Ichabod had such little joy in his life, it seemed wrong to try to take it away.

00

A few weeks after the pie incident, Ichabod was at work when one of his fellow officers approached him. The man was a large, burly gentleman who had always had it out for him, citing him as a liability and a coward to anyone who would listen. Having recently noticed Ichabod’s clothing situation, he took advantage of it.

“Maybe time to get some new clothes, Crane? Maternity clothes, perhaps?” The man joked, causing the others nearby to laugh.

Ichabod felt his face burn with embarrassment, but did his best to keep his cool. It wouldn’t be smart to start an argument. 

“Maybe you should keep your thoughts to your-” He started, but was silenced as he felt something hit his stomach from the inside. It stunned him enough to force him to sit. 

One of his other, somewhat kinder colleagues spoke up.

“Crane, it’s just a joke! But seriously, if you need new clothes, you can put in for a new uniform. We’re entitled to two new ones each year.”

Before Ichabod could respond, the feeling returned. It felt like something was hitting him in the ribs. 

When Ichabod said nothing, the man continued.

“Are you alright?”

Ichabod blinked. Everyone was staring at him now.

“I’m fine,” He answered. “Just ate something that didn’t agree with me. And I’m not pregnant!” He snapped, looking at the first man angrily. “I’ve just gained some weight.”

“But the rest of you is so skinny,” The first man said, surprised by Ichabod’s reaction. “How can you only gain weight in your stomach?”

“Genetics!” Ichabod snapped. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure we all have work to do.”

00

The feeling of something hitting him from within his stomach stayed with Ichabod throughout the day. By the time he returned home, he was at his wit’s end, feeling nervous and shaky. He felt a hot shower might help.

The first few minutes went fine until the feeling returned once again. It was then that he finally broke down. The tears came and he began to hyperventilate.

“I’m not having a breakdown,” He whispered to himself. “I’m okay. Everything is alright.”

But the tears came harder, and despite the words he was repeating, he kept feeling worse.

“I’m not having a breakdown. I’m not having a breakdown. I’m not having a breakdown.”

And then it was too much. He started to cry harder, and slid to the floor of the shower, curling his knees to his chest as best he could. 

The sound of Ichabod crying alerted Jack that something was wrong. He announced himself before entering the bathroom and found Ichabod rocking back and forth as the hot water poured over him. He was crying and muttering to himself. Jack frowned.

“I’m going to turn off the water,” Jack said as calmly as he could manage. “Then I’ll help you get up.”

Ichabod didn’t respond. He only looked up once the water was off. 

Jack quickly got a towel and held out a hand to help Ichabod up. Ichabod took the assistance and shakily got to his feet. He allowed Jack to wrap him in the towel and lead him to sit down.

Quietly, Jack got a glass of water and watched as Ichabod drank it down. Once he seemed somewhat more calm, Jack spoke again.

“I guess you’re realizing everything now,” He said. “It’ll be alright. We’ll get you to a doctor, get you some help. You’ll be just fine.”

Ichabod looked at Jack as if he had lobsters crawling out of his ears.

“Why would I need a doctor?” He asked. “I’m fine.”

Jack sighed loudly.

“Mate, you’re pregnant. You must have realized this. Why else would you have been crying like that?”

Ichabod swallowed nervously. The thought had indeed occurred to him, but it couldn’t be true. He’d simply been eating too much and not moving enough, and his poor diet was giving him stomach aches. It was nothing more than that.

“Stress,” Ichabod replied. “I had a long day. I’m fine. I don’t need a doctor.”

Jack couldn’t help but roll his eyes. 

“Right. Have it your way.” He turned to leave, unsure of what else to say or do.

00

An hour later, Ichabod had changed into one of the only outfits that still fit, a set of blue flannel pajamas. He was sitting on the couch, eating his key lime pie when there was a knock at the door. Jack ran to answer it.

“Mort,” He greeted their neighbor. “How are you?”

“I’m good. I’m having a little marathon of The Office over at my place, and was wondering if you both wanted to join me.”

Ichabod glanced up at him.

“That’s nice of you,” He forced a smile. 

“Well, it gets kinda lonely. You guys in?”

Ichabod shrugged. “As long as I don’t have to put on regular clothes, I’m in.”

“Sounds good,” Jack agreed. 

“Wear what you want,” Mort told Ichabod. “I’m not judging.”

Ichabod pushed himself up, feeling that pain in his belly once again. He did his best to ignore it as he followed Jack out the door.

00

Mort’s apartment was oddly decorated, a drastic change from Ichabod’s rather minimalist flat. Jack found himself amused by the plastic skull wearing shutter shades on his bookshelf, the Budweiser mirror on the wall, the tortilla blanket crumpled in a heap on the floor by the couch, and the plasma ball on his coffee table. There also seemed to be a lot of random geodes and rocks littered among some photos of Mort and his family.

“Who’s this?” Jack asked, pointing to a photo of a little girl with blonde hair.

Mort smiled. “That’s my daughter, Jenny. My ex has custody but I see her a few times a month. She’s six now.”

“Very cute. She looks a lot like you.”

“Well, I carried her,” Mort said. “But yeah, she does. Lucky kid, she’ll be a knockout like her dad.”

Jack chuckled and made his way back to the couch, where Ichabod was already sitting. He’d grabbed a Nicholas Cage throw blanket that Mort had left out and had wrapped it around himself, snuggling into it.

Mort ordered a pizza and turned on the television. Around five episodes in, Mort and Jack noticed that Ichabod wasn’t laughing much, and turned to see that he had curled up in the corner of the couch and had fallen asleep.

“He’s had a very hard day,” Jack whispered to Mort.

“I figured. I heard him crying. That’s why I invited you over.”

Jack frowned. 

“I feel bad for him. He’s still in denial about everything.”

“Yeah. Well, all anyone can do is be there for him and try to help as much as we can.”

Jack nodded in agreement.

“On that note, I might take this opportunity to help him a bit myself. You mind letting him sleep here a bit?”

“No, of course not.”

“Thanks. Send him back over when he wakes up. And thanks for the pizza, too.”

“Any time,” Mort replied.

00

Ichabod woke early the next morning, finding himself tucked in on Mort’s couch. He had two blankets on him and was snuggled into several pillows. It was the first time in a while that he’d slept so well and he appreciated Mort making sure that he was comfortable.

He stretched a bit before quietly folding up the blankets and heading back to his apartment. 

The place was dark when he walked in, and he heard Jack snoring as he slept on the futon in the living room. Ichabod krept by, gently closing the door to his bedroom. He was surprised to see several sets of black, gray and dark blue sweatpants on his bed, along with a few plain t-shirts. Seeing the Walmart tags on them, he realized that Jack must have gone out while he slept to pick them up.

He picked up a pair of black pants and slipped into them, finding them infinitely more comfortable than his regular clothes. The gray t-shirt he chose was also very comfortable. 

Jack, annoying as he could be sometimes, really was a good friend, Ichabod thought to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Eight months after Ichabod’s ordeal, the chief put him on desk duty. It had been one of the few times that Ichabod directly argued with his superior. The chief’s concern was that he clearly had some type of medical condition going on, and that he felt unsafe sending him into the field. Ichabod protested that he was fine, that he could absolutely still do field work, so his boss had told him to get an exam to prove it. 

So, Ichabod was stuck at his desk, filling out intake forms and reviewing old case files. It was boring and he hated having to do it, but the prospect of going to a doctor frightened him more than the idea of doing paperwork all day. And, not that he would ever admit it, it was nice to be able to sit. His back and feet hurt so often that he was starting to dread walking around. Unfortunately, he’d been unable to lose the weight he’d gained, as he became terribly moody if he didn’t get enough to eat. It’d gotten to where Jack had threatened to shove food in his mouth while he slept if he tried it again, so he’d been cooperating and eating enough to keep his roommate happy.

He hoped that his body would eventually even out. Maybe in a few months, he could attempt a diet again and get back in shape, but for now, it seemed better just to rest as much as he could.

00

By the time Ichabod got home every night, he was exhausted. It didn’t help that the feelings of something hitting him in the stomach kept him up at night, as did the panic that something was truly wrong with him. Denial didn’t work so well when it was three in the morning and he was all alone.

Many times he would come in and sit down on the couch, only to fall asleep a few minutes later. Jack would wake him up for meals and he would spend the rest of the evening either in bed or lying around and watching television.

Mort had come by a few times, offering to help with things, but at one point, he mentioned how he’d felt similar right before Jenny was born, and all bets were off. Ichabod seemed to get angry if he so much as saw Mort or heard Jack utter his name.

00

Another month passed and Jack was truly beginning to worry. Ichabod was feeling worse and worse, and he worried about him going into work each day. Though it was obvious to Jack and Mort what was happening, they were not sure how Ichabod would react when the big day came and he finally did give birth.

It finally occurred on a chilly fall day. Ichabod was at his desk, filling out reports, when he felt the worst cramp he’d ever felt in his life. It was bad enough to make him cry out and double over in pain.

The chief had immediately called for someone to examine him and possibly take him to the hospital, but Ichabod declined treatment. Instead, he asked to be driven home where he could hopefully rest. As Ichabod was an adult, the chief had no choice but to allow it. He did give him a ride home, at least.

00

An hour after arriving at home, Ichabod was in bed when another cramp hit. He cried out again, causing Jack to rush into his room.

“I’m fine,” Ichabod tried to reassure Jack through gritted teeth. “Just… stomach problems…”

“I’m not so sure it’s just that, mate,” Jack said. He glanced at the clock near Ichabod’s bed and noted the time. He was sure that Ichabod was having contractions. “I really think we need to get ya to a doctor. Your contractions are an hour apart now but they’ll be getting closer. Please, let me call?”

“N-not contractions,” Ichabod answered. “I’ll be fine soon.”

00

Things went downhill quickly. Fifteen minutes later, another contraction hit, causing Ichabod to scream. When his water broke, he’d started to cry, and Jack truly started to panic. Not knowing what else to do, he ran to Mort’s apartment and frantically knocked on the door. The writer answered almost immediately.

“We need help,” Jack told him. “I think Ichabod’s going into labor and he won’t let me call 911.”

Mort frowned. 

“I knew it’d end up like this. Alright. Let’s go.”

He followed Jack back to his apartment, and entered the bedroom to see Ichabod shaking, sweating and crying.

“It h-hurts so much…” Ichabod said, his breathing erratic. 

“Having a baby isn’t exactly a walk in the park,” Mort replied. “Alright. We need to get your pants off. Jack, call 911.”

Mort leaned over to help Ichabod with his clothes while Ichabod firmly told Jack not to call for help. When Jack saw the blood on Ichabod’s legs and the sheets, he shook his head.

“No! You don’t get a say. I’m calling,” Jack told him. 

Ichabod screamed as another cramp hit him, before a feeling of needing to push overtook him. He was tightly gripping Mort’s hand as Jack walked back into the room.

“They’ll be here in five minutes and- Oh my lord, that is a baby coming out of you!” Jack said, eyes wide. 

“Push again,” Mort instructed. He remembered a little bit of how it had gone when he had Jenny, and recalled being told to continue pushing as the baby crowned.

Ichabod, in too much pain to argue, did as he was told. He screamed again as he pushed, feeling more blood come out of him.

Jack’s eyes widened even further, and he felt a wave of dizziness before he finally passed out.

“Great,” Mort mumbled. He checked on Ichabod. “Well, at least you’re almost done. One more push!”

As Ichabod pushed, Mort moved to catch the baby, grimacing at the blood and fluids coating it and his hands. Unsure of what exactly to do with it, he grabbed a t-shirt that was lying on the ground and wrapped it around the baby, who had begun to scream.

“Looks like you’ve got a little boy,” Mort said, as he showed Ichabod the child.

Ichabod said nothing. He was exhausted and felt sick, and seeing that a baby had literally just come out of him terrified him. He’d been wrong. He had been pregnant the whole time. 

Mort had just put the baby into Ichabod’s arms when EMS arrived. They walked into the bedroom and found him there, covered in blood, a stunned, frightened look on his face.

00

Ichabod didn’t argue with the EMTs, who suggested that he be taken to the hospital for postnatal treatment. Rather, he silently allowed them to help him onto a stretcher and handed off his son to the nearest person who was willing to take him.

Jack, who woke up as the paramedics came in, went with him, while Mort stayed behind to clean up.

00

A day later, Ichabod was physically feeling better. The doctors had cleaned him up, helped him pass the afterbirth and had given him enough medication to keep the pain at bay. Mentally, on the other hand, he felt horrible. He couldn’t sleep because of how horrified he felt. What was he going to do? He had a baby because he was raped.

Every time anyone brought him the child, he felt numb. He had no idea what to do, and would simply hold him and stare at him. If the child cried, he felt nothing. He had no urge to hold them, or comfort them in any way. 

For awhile, Jack tried to help, holding and rocking the baby, smiling at him and hugging him, but it soon became clear that Ichabod was never going to bond well with him. 

After a week, when Ichabod had still failed to name the child and had shown little interest in caring for it, the option of putting him up for adoption was introduced.

Mort had visited during the discussion on it, and sat next to Ichabod the entire time. Ichabod showed no emotion when the possibility was brought up.

“I… I can’t,” Was all he said. “I can’t care for him. I’m sorry.” He turned to Jack with tears in his eyes. 

Jack frowned and put an arm around him, while Mort let Ichabod take his hand once again.

“That’s alright, mate. It takes strength to admit when you need help, and there’ll be some lovely family who would be overjoyed to have your son. He’ll live a good life.”

A tear ran down Ichabod’s cheek, and he nodded in agreement.

“I’ll only fail him,” He whispered. 

“You won’t, because you’re doing the right thing,” Mort told him. He felt Ichabod squeeze his hand a little harder. “It’s going to be alright. I promise.”


End file.
